Deadly Affairs
by cr8vgrl
Summary: What if Sherlock Holmes wasn't just a fictional character? Sydney Holmes is proof that he wasn't. When her practical father drags her out to the countryside for "a break", she is swept into a murder, and she might be the next victim.
1. Nonfictional Friends

**London, 1902**

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle paused, lifting his fountain pen up to his face so that it barely touched his lips. _"What else could I add to the piece?"_ he wondered as he glanced about his room, noting the sheets of paper that were sticking out of every nook of his writing cabinet. "I really must see to those," he mused, silently chastising himself for letting his cabinet fall into such a state of disarray. Whenever he started working on a story, the smaller, habitual acts of cleanliness and tidiness ceased to exist. There was only his fountain pen and his paper. He shook his head, forcing himself to return to the story. Was there something else that could be added? He would have to make a note and ask about that.

He waved his pen around in the air absentmindedly as he thought back to all the stories he had heard regarding the former case, trying to deduce whether or not he had covered every base and had remembered every detail worth putting into the story. His other hand, the one not holding the pen, slid across the maple desk to grab a fresh sheet of paper so that he could make his note.

Arthur had just finished penning the note when there was a sharp tap at the door. With a smile, the author sat back in his chair and crossed his left leg over his right knee. "Come in," he called.

The door slid open and in walked one of Arthur's closest friends. With his lean figure and thin face, the man did not seem much different from anyone else one might meet on the street, but if one was close enough to see his eyes, they would notice the difference almost immediately. His eyes sparkled with intelligence that was borderline brilliancy, and they bore into a person, analyzing one's problems before one even had a chance to introduce themselves. His name was Sherlock Holmes, and he was, in Sir Arthur's opinion, one of the greatest men that had ever lived.

Sherlock's thin face seemed to stretch as he smiled at his friend. "Been working furiously on the new story, have you?" he asked.

Sir Arthur nodded and replied, "Yes, but how the devil did you deduce that?"

Sherlock shrugged out of his coat and hat, hanging them on the peg next to the door. "Simple, my writer friend. Your desk is in an uncharacteristic disarray, your mustache is lopsided from stroking it when in deep thought, and you have black dots of ink on your lips from where you've pressed your fountain pen into them."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "You, my friend," he said, "never cease to amaze me. Your logic astounds me."

Sherlock just smiled, his arrogance not permitting him to protest the compliments. "Which one are you working on now?" he asked instead.

"The Hound of the Baskervilles," Arthur responded. "It's almost finished, but I have a couple of questions for you." He handed Sherlock a sheet of paper with two sentences circled. "Are those two sentences correct?"

Sherlock read over them, his keen eyes darting back and forth as he picked apart the construction of the sentences. "Yes," he said with a nod, handing the paper back to his friend. "Those are correct."

"Good," Sir Arthur said, replacing the marked up sheet of paper with a clean one that he had already copied just in case the sentences had been correct. He shuffled the papers and tied them with string, patting the bundle with a smile. "That should be in publication very soon," he said.

He stood, motioning for Sherlock to take a seat as he himself sat down in one of the chairs by the fire. "Would you like a light?" he asked, motioning to the pipe that had appeared in one of his friend's long, white hands.

"Yes please," Sherlock responded, nodding. The light was given and the friends sat back, Sherlock puffing away at his pipe.

"So how is Irene?" Sir Arthur asked, always inquiring about his favorite lady.

Sherlock smiled as his wife's name was mentioned. Irene Holmes, formerly Mrs. Godfrey Norton, had been the only woman that Sherlock had ever looked twice at. At the time, she had simply outwitted him, and for that, he had been resentful, but once her husband had died on a sailing expedition, the two had become closer, eventually marrying and settling down to married life on Baker Street. "She's fine," he responded. "She helped me tremendously in a new case we worked on together." He waved the pipe in his hand at his friend. "That was one reason I came to see you. It was interesting enough to make into a story."

"Really?" Sir Arthur asked, leaning forward in his chair expectantly.

Sherlock nodded. "It had to do with a kidnapping and a ransom that was most ingeniously done." He sat back in his chair and drew in a long breath before he began his tale.

When he had finished, Sherlock sat back in his chair, puffing on his pipe as he watched his friend's face for any signs of interest. "Well?" he asked. "Is that one story-worthy?"

Arthur nodded excitedly. "Indeed it is. You and Irene never cease to amaze me."

Upon hearing his wife's name uttered once more, Sherlock glanced at his pocket watch. "Arthur," he said regretfully, "I must get home. I informed Irene that I would be there by half past six, and it is already a quarter past."

Arthur nodded, rising from his chair. "Of course, he said. "Of course. Give my regards to Irene. And how is that little one doing?"

Sherlock's face grew wider as he thought about his son. "He's just fine," he said. "Sometime, I'll bring him for a visit."

Arthur nodded. "Good," he said, waving as his friend left the apartment. Once Sherlock had gone, Arthur turned back to the chairs they had previously been sitting at and smiled. His friend was an interesting specimen. He had always been so arrogant, so sure of his abilities until he had met Irene. Since they had been married, she had toned down his arrogance a bit, but not enough to the point where Sherlock was no longer the way he had been.

Arthur thought back to Sherlock's son, Watson Holmes, having been named after another good friend of Sherlock's who had aided him in many cases. For a man who had once looked down at any feeling with a sneer of disdain, Sherlock was quite affectionate to his two-year-old son and his wife. "Perhaps marriage was good for him," Arthur thought with conviction as he returned to his writing cabinet.

Whenever Sherlock came for a visit, Arthur always knew that he was going to begin writing as soon as he left, eager to get all the details down on paper before they were lost from his memory until the next time Sherlock came and cleared up the details for him. He moved the completed manuscript of The Hound of the Baskervilles to the edge of his desk, out of his way, and picked up his fountain pen once more.

He pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began to write. The world would soon know another harrowing adventure of the greatest detective to have ever lived, and it would be by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's pen that Sherlock Holmes' name would be glorified so that it lived on through generations……….


	2. Meeting Sydney

**Michigan University, 2009**

Walter Holmes sat up straight in his chair, straightening his tie once again. He glanced at the clock, nervously watching as four thirty in the afternoon approached. His eyes flickered from the floor of his office to the bookshelves arranged against the far wall, and back to the desk he sat behind. Everything seemed to be in order. He reached out, straightening the already straight lamp on top of his desk, giving himself something to do for a couple of seconds. Dissatisfied with this new straightening, Walter put the lamp back into its original position.

Normally, he was an extraordinarily calm and logical person, almost to a fault, but today was an excuse for near panic. The board from the university where Walter worked as head scientist was coming out for a tour of the facilities in order to judge whether or not to continue the program that Walter and his colleague had begun almost three years ago. Walter straightened his tie once again, pulling on it sharply. Ties were such nuisances! Now he understood why he never wore one when he worked. They made him feel as though he was suffocating.

"I want to take this off," he muttered aloud. A voice in the back of his head firmly reminded him though, that _image is everything_, so he left the tie on and adjusted his suit once more.

Just as the clock on his bookshelf displayed that it was indeed four thirty, there was a knock on Walter's door. He cleared his throat and called, "Enter!"

His secretary, Melissa Peretric, entered, saying, "The board members are here, Walter."

Walter nodded. "Send them in," he said, wiping his forehead one more time before his guests arrived.

His secretary nodded and disappeared. Soon, three men were filing in through the door, their attitudes and their outfits indicating that they were of some importance. All dressed in suits, they looked much more comfortable than Walter felt. He stood immediately, smiling widely. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," Walter said, walking around his desk to shake each of their hands in turn.

Peter Grand, Benjamin Abrey, and Elijah Morris shook Walter's hand as he greeted each one, discreetly rubbing their hand over their pant leg after they had shook his hand without realizing that they had done so. They each responded to Walter Holmes greeting with tolerance, but when Peter Grand spoke up, it was evident that they had not come for a pleasant visit. "We've come to see about your science program," he said crisply.

Walter smiled. "I guessed as much," he said nervously. "We've come a long way in our DNA research. Would you care to come down to the lab so that I might give you a tour?" When the board members seemed about to protest, Walter added, "It might give you a more comprehensive feel for what we're doing, and how we're spending your money."

This statement surprised the members, but Benjamin Abrey nodded slightly. "By all means, Dr. Holmes," he said. "Lead the way."

Walter nodded back and hurried out of his office, calling, "This way, gentlemen." He led them through the maze of offices on the campus, all the while keeping up a running commentary. "We're in the process of expanding the lab, seeing as how the forensics class is now using up half of our lab space for their human anatomy." He pressed the Down button for the elevator and stepped back so that he could once again see the men he needed to impress. "We hope to create a room just for the forensics class to operate in so that we might have the lab space to ourselves."

The elevator arrived and the quartet stepped inside to transcend down to the floor below. Once there, they made a sharp left and saw the plain door marked LAB. Walter was just about to open the door when everyone heard the most awful sound of metal against flesh.

_Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!_ The sickening crunches made the fastidious board members draw back, disgusted. Walter peered through the window in the door, placed there for observing the students at their work, and gasped at what he saw. Pulling open the door with lightning speed, he raced into the lab and cried, "What are you doing?!"

The person he was addressing was a petite girl about five foot six with reddish hair and brilliant green eyes. At the sound of his outraged voice, she whirled around, the crowbar she had been using dropping from her hands. Her eyes grew wider and she exclaimed, "Dad!"

Walter took great strides to where his daughter, Sydney Holmes, stood and picked up the crowbar, which now had traces of skin on it. He looked from his guilty-looking daughter to the now dismantled body before him and asked in an almost deadly tone, "What are you doing?"

The board members had drifted in, now that the horrid sounds had stopped, and were standing in the doorway, watching the interesting exchange. Sydney glanced from the board members, to the body, and back to her father, biting her lip. "I asked if it was alright!" she blurted out. "They told me that they had finished with the body, and that I could do whatever I wanted to it!"

Walter glared at his daughter. "So you decided to dismantle it, today of all days?"

Sydney glanced back at the board members and then rushed towards them. "I'm very sorry," she blurted out. "I completely forgot that today was the day you were coming. I don't do this on a regular basis, and I chose a very impractical time to start working on my research. Please don't fault my father for this."

"Research?" Benjamin asked curiously. "What kind of research are you doing?" The question was condescending, and Sydney's sharp eyes narrowed for a moment as she glanced over the man who stood before her.

"I was researching the length of time bruises could form post mortis," she explained, using the scientific term for "death" in order to prove to the man challenging her that she knew what she was talking about. "My great-grandfather did the same experiment, but he never recorded any of his results, and I wanted to know." She smiled, reverting back to her sixteen-year-old characteristics. "I'm a very curious person," she explained. She bit her lip as she glanced at her father, whose face had turned quite red, and was very drawn. Yes, she was dead when she arrived home. "I suppose I picked a rather bad day to begin my experiments."

Elijah Morris spoke for the first time. "That'll never work," he informed her. "But who was your great-grandfather?" he asked, changing the subject. "Was he a scientist?"

Sydney shook her head, her eyes shining with glee. "He was a great detective." She smirked. "Perhaps you've heard of him? His name was Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes was a story!" Benjamin scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Sydney nodded her head. "Yet here I am," she pointed out. "He wasn't just a story. He was one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's greatest, and most secret friends. He would solve a mystery, and then he would visit Sir Arthur, and Sir Arthur would write down exactly everything that happened." Sydney crossed her arms over her chest. "It's true."

Elijah Morris chimed in. "But Sherlock Holmes never married!"

Sydney rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. He married my great-grandmother, Irene. She was the only woman to ever outwit him."

"Irene Adler?!" Peter cried, shocked.

Sydney nodded. "He married her after her husband died." Seeing the men's disbelieving expressions, Sydney said, "Look, if you don't believe me, look it up. They have a marriage license and everything." She grinned, her eyes taking on a mischievous twinkle. "In the meantime though, Mr. Abrey, you should take care to cover up those red lipstick smudges under your collar better. Other people might notice that you are having an affair."

Benjamin started, and then bristled, and Walter grabbed his daughter by the elbow. "That's quite enough, Sydney," he said sternly. "Come, we're going." He pulled her with him out of the lab and turned at the doorway to address the shocked board members, one of which was furiously adjusting his collar. "I'm terribly sorry gentlemen, but this interview will have to take place at another time."

With that, he literally dragged Sydney out into the parking lot of the university, stuffing her into the passenger seat of the car and slipping into the driver's seat himself. With a roar, the engine came to life, and Walter pulled out of his parking spot with an uncharacteristic squeal of tires. Sydney, realizing that it would be in her best interest to keep quite, did so and slid down a little in her seat.

It did not take long for her dad to explode. "What on earth were you thinking?!" he asked, slamming the steering wheel with his hand.

"I wasn't?" Sydney responded questioningly, knowing that that was the answer her father wanted to hear.

"No, you weren't!" her father agreed. "How did you even get to the university?"

Sydney raised her eyebrow. He was just now asking the question of why she had been in the lab in the first place? How very like her father. "Dad, my high school's a five minute walk from the university," she explained again. They had had this conversation more times than Sydney could remember.

"Oh," said Walter flatly. "How did you get into the lab?"

"Josh Mintra let me in. I was looking for you when I saw the body." Sydney bit her lip. "I'm really sorry about what happened back there, dad," she told him. "I honestly forgot about today being the day for your meeting."

Walter made a mental note to give Josh, one of his students, a solid thrashing when Monday morning rolled around. Then, he sighed. "I suppose there's no real harm done." He grinned. "It was rather funny, now that I think about it, seeing those board members looking disgusted with you. They have absolutely no stomach for that sort of thing." He shook his head. "But why a crowbar?"

Sydney shrugged. "It wasn't just a crowbar that I was using. I was using different kinds of equipment on different parts of the body. It was just untimely for you to walk in while I was working on the abdomen." She glanced at her father, whose hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight that the knuckles had turned white. "You're really worried about the board members, aren't you?"

Walter glanced sideways at his daughter. "Okay," he said slowly. "I'll bite. How'd you figure that out?"

Sydney smiled at her dad. "You're too practical. That's easy. You have a death grip on the steering wheel and you're perspiring." She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't take a detective to figure that one out."

Walter ignored her and asked instead, "And how did you know that Ben Abrey was having an affair?" he asked.

"Just like I told him," Sydney answered. "Lipstick on his collar."

"But it could be his wife's," Walter pointed out, unconvinced. "You could've offended him."

Sydney shook her head. "The color of the lipstick showed that it was an affair, and his reaction when I cautioned him about it solidified my suspicions."

Walter glared at her. "Do you always have to talk like your great-grandfather?" he asked.

Sydney nodded. "You should be glad that I've chosen great-grandfather to imitate instead of some rock star or actress," she informed him, sitting back in her seat with her hands folded over her chest.

Walter shook his head. "I think it's time you and I both had a vacation. You have your nose buried too far into your great-grandfather's exploits, and I have myself buried too far into work. A few weeks in the countryside will do both of us a world of good."

Sydney snuck glances at her father as he drove the rest of the way home. Even though she had quite a bit of Sherlock Holmes in her, she was still not quite to his famous caliber, and her mind was working furiously. What was her father thinking? That small smile on his face looked suspicious……


	3. The Countryside

"The countryside" turned out to be all the way in England. Sydney shook her head as she tried to follow her father through the large crowd at the airport, remembering her previous conversation with her dad. "Couldn't you find some countryside in the States?" she'd asked, and he'd replied testily that there was a family in England that he had wanted to see for a very long time, and that they lived in the country. This would be the perfect opportunity to go and see them.

Sydney had crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. Not even the enticement of going and seeing Baker Street before they went out to the manor where the Benton family lived could lighten her mood. She retrieved her bag, leaving her father's on the belt so that he would have to run around to the other side to get it, and headed for the exit, berating herself for being such a brat, yet making no effort to change her attitude. Why did she have to have a father that was so upsettingly logical in every other aspect of his life, but could make decisions like leaving the country on a whim that actually took some serious thought?

A taxi was hailed and Sydney sat forward, her moodiness giving way to curiosity as she watched the driver pull out to the left side of the road. With curious eyes, Sydney watched the scenery flash past the window, all on the wrong side of the road, in her opinion. As the taxi turned onto another street, Sydney caught a glimpse of the sign and her eyes widened. Her dad had actually brought her to Baker Street like he had promised.

* * *

For the next two hours, Sydney roved around the little apartment of her great-grandfather, touching nothing, but taking everything in with wide, calculating eyes. Her self-control broke, though, when she saw Sherlock's violin, retrieved, she knew, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle at some point to prove that Sherlock Holmes had never left, and had never married. She reached out, and only the warning sound of the tour guide clearing her throat stopped her from caressing the old wood. She gave the guide a contrite smile and moved on to other parts of the apartment.

Finally, she strode up to her father, whose patience, she could tell, was waning, and announced, "I'm ready."

Her keen ears almost missed the "Finally," he uttered under his breath as he thanked the tour guide and steered his daughter out of the apartments as quickly as he could. The Bentons were waiting.

The drive out of London was long, taxing, and completely arduous. Sydney rolled her eyes and fixated her gaze on the window of the cab. "Great," she muttered as the first torrent of rain slammed into the pane. Could the day get any better a.k.a. worse? Probably not.

However, her father didn't seem the least concerned or surprised that the London skies were spastically opening up and pelting the little car with fat raindrops. "What did you expect?" he asked her with an annoyed shrug. "It's England."

"I expected," Sydney mentally shot back, but then stopped. Mental arguing wasted too much of her time. Instead, she resolved to sit back, relax, and "try" to enjoy the countryside.

* * *

She must have fallen asleep because an hour later Walter Holmes was prodding her gently. "What?" she grumbled.

He ignored her rudeness for the time being and said instead, "We're here."

Sydney sat up, trying to shake off the sleepiness she felt, and peered out the window, squinting to see around the rain splatters on the pane. They were driving through a small town, one that would have probably been in some vacationer's guide as a "quaint little spot to visit." However, despite her grumpiness, Sydney couldn't help but admire the charm of the tiny town.

"This looks exactly like the town great-grandfather visited in-" she began, but her father cut her off.

"Sydney," he pleaded tiredly, "don't mention your great-grandfather for a while, okay? And _please_ don't start experimenting on the Bentons when you want to work out some new hypothesis." His tone brooked no argument and Sydney could do nothing but nod agreeably as the cab pulled off the street and headed down a dirt lane.

The Benton house was set far back from the lane, and Sydney leaned forward, trying to hide her natural curiosity, in an effort to see the house. The house was unlike anything she had expected.

It looked like a cross between Cinderella's house and the Seven Dwarves' house. The house was actually situated on a "hill" of sorts, surrounded on three sides by a moat of bluish-green water. Sydney tried not to snicker. Had they gone back in time, or something?

Apparently not, because the taxi rumbled across the drawbridge and had to swing around to avoid the seven cars scattered in front of the large front door. Sydney stepped out and glanced around, taking in the rolling hills behind the estate, and the large storm clouds that were quickly bearing down on them.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman darted down the steps, throwing her arms around Sydney's father, who had just finished paying for the cab. "Walter!" she cried happily. "Oh it's wonderful to see you again! It's been far too long!"

Walter Holmes actually hugged her back. Sydney was shocked that he returned the gesture since he wasn't usually a man who liked public affection. However, the smile on his face as he did so was very genuine, and he returned the sentiments given to him. With the briefest of glances at Sydney, Walter leaned in close and whispered something in the woman's ear that made her pause for a moment and her smile waver.

She glanced quickly at Sydney and then stepped away from the embrace. "No matter," she told him, and then stepped towards Sydney. Her face beamed with happy curiosity as she smiled at Sydney. "Hello, dear Sydney," she said. "How are you?"

Sydney, despite her mood and her reluctance to come traipsing halfway across the world just to find some "countryside," chose that moment to remember her manners and said politely, "Fine, thank you."

The woman smiled once more. "You're the spitting image of your mother," she told Sydney. She turned back to Walter and smiled. "It's not fair, Walter. Really it isn't. You get a lovely girl to marry, and then you get a lovely daughter to go along with it."

Walter smiled but didn't say anything, and Sydney guessed by his facial expression that he was studying her and trying to find the similarities between her and her mother. However, he wasn't left to dwell on them for too long because the happy woman was already trying to take Sydney's bag and pull it up the stairs. "Come in, come in!" she exclaimed happily. "You must meet the rest of the family. Everyone's waiting for you!"

"_Great,"_ Sydney thought. _"Now I have to meet everyone else. Will this day never end?"_

**A/N: Thank you to the readers who are reading this. I'm so very sorry that it has taken me this long to get this chapter out, but this story takes so much plotting that I have only managed to piece snippets of it together at a time. Please review and tell me if it was worth the wait, and thanks for being so patient! :D  
**


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